


Piercing the Veil of Death

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ghosts, M/M, Paranormal Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis de l'fantome are a group of French paranormal investigators.  One night, they face incredible tragedy, and Enjolras must face a terrible revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piercing the Veil of Death

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. I really am so sorry.

“He, uh.  He had a thing for you.”  Combeferre says it quickly, like it’s something Enjolras should have already known (but he didn’t he didn’t he didn’t and now Grantaire is —).

Jehan is sobbing ceaselessly on Enjolras’s other side, and the noise makes it hard for the man to think straight.  ”What?”

“He  _wanted you_ ,” Courfeyrac grits out.

“ _He loved him_ ,” Jehan corrects, the words a hysteric gasp.

 

The idea strikes like a blow, and Enjolras looks up at the shade that flickers on the other side of a ring of salt, choking on the bar of iron being stabbed so slowly through his throat.

Grantaire had never wanted to do this.

Grantaire had come anyway.

Grantaire hadn’t even believed in ghosts.

Grantaire had died by one’s spectral hands.

 _Grantaire would not be here if it had not been for you,_  Enjolras’s conscience tells him wickedly.   _Jehan is right, Courfeyrac is right, Combeferre is right, and you were too blind and he is dead._

He realizes that the world will be  _wrong_  without Grantaire in it, that he’s  _not allowed_ to be dead.

He didn’t permit this, this shouldn’t be happening.

Enjolras shivers like death is upon his neck.  ”But I could get through to him,” he says.

“Yeah, maybe,” Combeferre agrees.  ”You’re the only one who could.”

“God,” Enjolras swears.  ”I don’t — he shouldn’t have —”

 _loved me, come here tonight,_ the words stick in Enjolras’s mouth, but Combeferre just nods because Combeferre knows everything that Enjolras is not saying.

Enjolras stands up, a man at war with himself, and steps over the salt line.

He approaches the ghost of his friend.  The ghost of the man who loved him, if he can trust his friends (and he can, he has always been able to place complete and utter trust in his amis, he always has and always will), who stands here perpetually dying.

It’s his fault this has happened.

 _He loved you_ , his mind whispers incessantly, over and over and over.   _He loved you enough to die for you._

“Grantaire?” he asks, and he can’t help it if his voice trembles.

The shade does not respond.

Enjolras steps closer, close enough to see the fear and the pain in Grantaire’s ghostly eyes as he dies again.

“ _Grantaire,_ ” he repeats, leaning on the word, because this is wrong, this is so wrong, Grantaire isn’t permitted to be dead, Enjolras  _needs —_

and there is the moment of epiphany, cracked moonlight shivering through cracks in the walls and flooding through the windows, Enjolras standing there shaking and the shade standing there dying:

Enjolras needs Grantaire.  Desperately.

“Please,” he asks, his voice breaking.  ”Grantaire, please, if you can hear me, give me some sign, anything, please,  _Grantaire._ ”

He wonders if the others knew about this, or if they’re as surprised as he is, but he bats the thought aside and repeats Grantaire’s name just one more time, begging.

“Ah-Enjolras?” the shade finally replies, eyes blinking rapidly and face reaching confusion, finally, rather than pain.

“I’m so sorry,” Enjolras says quickly.  ”I — I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” the other rasps.  ”I didn’t mean to upset you by dying.”  There’s something of the old bitter sarcasm in it, and Enjolras finds his eyes filling with tears.

He shakes his head.  ”I — you should’ve — God, Grantaire, I can’t,” he says, helplessly.

He can’t say it, even though he needs to.

The words get caught in his throat, choking him.  Either they reach Grantaire, or Enjolras will choke to death on them and join Grantaire himself (it would be appropriate, yes, yes it would).

“Don’t lie to me, Apollo,” Grantaire says, smiling sadly.  ”It’s so I can move on, I know.”

“Don’t — you can’t be dead.  You’re not — I don’t give the universe permission to take you away,” Enjolras says the last part softly, too soft for his friends behind the salt line to hear.  

Grantaire looks perplexed.  ”I didn’t realize the universe had to ask.”

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras says, hoping.

“No, I don’t.”

Enjolras bites his lip.  ”Can you move?”

Grantaire tries it, experimentally lifting a hand and examining it.  The iron bar does not go through his neck again.  ”Yeah,” he mutters.

Enjolras reaches for it, his hand passing through even as he tries to hold Grantaire’s.  He lets out a sound of despair, and frost is on his hand when he pulls it back.

“You —” Grantaire manages, his face a mask of wonder, fear, and almost-hope.

“I need you, Grantaire,” Enjolras finally manages.  ”I need you.”

Grantaire smiles, just a little, like he’s almost afraid he’s dreaming, but he isn’t because he’s dead.  Enjolras feels his insides shudder; Grantaire is dead, and there is nothing that can be done about that.

“Then I’ll stay,” Grantaire says, quietly.  ”I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...Yes. This was Ghostfacers AU.


End file.
